Words Unspoken
by ilovecastiel18
Summary: Sherlock and John are kidnapped and tortured by Moriarty. They have no idea if they will be found, or if they will be alive when they are. They are forced to say things that they never said and do things that they have never done, before it's too late. Johnlock. Fluff, hurt/comfort, angst. Rated T for torture and mild language.


**Disclaimer:** Sherlock, along with its characters, location, etc. are the property of BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I do not own them, though I definitely wouldn't mind being on a first name basis with Benedict Cumberbatch ;)

 **Summary:** Sherlock and John are abducted by Moriarty and put in more danger than they have ever been in before, including severe torture. They have no idea when Mycroft and Lestrade will find them, if they ever will, or if they will even survive that long. They are forced to say the things they have yet to say, and hope that they are saved before they die in each other's arms. Johnlock. Hurt/comfort, fluff. One-Shot Rated T for torture and mild language.

….

Words Unspoken

….

"John!" Sherlock sat up and winced, rubbing the bump on the back of his head. He didn't remember much, only that he and John had been walking down Baker Street before he was hit in the head and everything went black. He groaned and groped around in the dark, pushing himself up against the wall he felt behind him. "JOHN!"

He heard a groan coming from a few feet away and pushed himself across the floor in the direction of the sound. "John?" He reached forward and felt his hand brush up against short hair. He moved closer until he was right next to John.

"John? Are you alright?" Sherlock whispered.

John groaned and sat up. "Sherlock?" He grumbled, rubbing his head.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked again.

"I think so...but my head hurts." John replied.

"So does mine. I think we were hit over the head and knocked out." Sherlock said.

"Where are we?" John asked, squinting to see through the darkness.

"I don't know, John. I have no idea what's going on." Sherlock moved to sit next to his best friend, unconsciously letting their shoulders touch.

"Ugh." John let his head fall against the wall. The two of them sat there for an unmeasurable amount of time before the door banged open and light flooded the room. Both men shielded their eyes from the stabbing light.

"What the hell?" John exclaimed.

"What's going on?" Sherlock asked loudly.

"So sorry for the way my men got you here, boys, it was so crude. I had to get you here somehow, though. How aaaaaaare you?"

Sherlock's blood ran cold when he heard that voice. As far as he knew, the man apparently standing in front of him was underground and out of the country. He couldn't believe that Moriarty had kidnapped him and his best friend.

"Moriarty?" John gasped.

"Correct! Good to see you have some intelligence, Dr. Watson!" Moriarty exclaimed. "Anyway, down to business. BOYS!"

Two large men walked into the room and roughly grabbed ahold of the two men, dragging them out of the room and down a long white hallway. When they made it about twenty feet down the hall, they were yanked into another room, one with surgical tables and tools, chains hanging from the ceiling, whips and tasers on the wall, and a large fireplace in the corner.

"What the hell?" John yelled again.

Two men dressed like doctors walked into the room, shutting the door behind them. One of the large men grabbed John and wrestled him onto a surgical table, while the other restrained Sherlock. While the man held John's struggling form onto the cold metal table, one of the doctors strapped him down so he could only move his head.

When John was taken care of, the men stripped Sherlock of his dress shirt and attached his hands to a chain hanging from the ceiling. Then Moriarty walked in.

"Hey boys! Oh, Sherlock, you need to get some sun. You're very pasty." He laughed as he walked in.

"What do you want?" Sherlock snapped.

"Oh, Sherlock, you think so little of me. I have no ulterior motives. I simply want to cause you and your friend pain. Physical pain, of course, but emotional pain as well. You both may be able to endure torture, but can you withstand the _other_ being tortured? I guess we'll find out!" Moriarty clapped his hands together in excitement.

"So, boys, who should we start with?"

"Me. Don't hurt John." Sherlock answered immediately.

"Sherlock…"

"Shut up, John."

"Oh, that's so cute! I think I'll just start with both of you."

Suddenly, one of the large men took a taser and stuck it into John's ribs. And Sherlock knew right then that he would never be able to get the sound of John screaming like that out of his mind for the rest of his life.

"JOHN! I _will_ kill you, Moriarty, I swear to God!" he screamed. He couldn't bear seeing John in so much pain.

"Oh, I'd like to see you try, Sherlock. Sadly, though, you'll never get a chance!" Suddenly, John's screams stopped and one of the doctor's checked his pulse.

Just as suddenly, Sherlock felt a whip slice into the skin on his back, and he groaned loudly. He wouldn't give Moriarty the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

While he was being whipped, he could hear John calling out his name. He could hear the pain and fear in his beloved blogger's voice.

As fast as the torture started, it stopped.

"Very interesting, boys. This is very exciting. Before I let you go back to the first room and lick your wounds, there's one more thing that I want to do."

One of the large men unchained Sherlock and moved him over to the other table, strapping him down next to John. The other yanked John's shirt up and over his head so he was shirtless like Sherlock.

"If you ever do get the chance to kill me, Sherlock…" Moriarty started to say. Sherlock saw the two large men walk over to the fireplace out of the corner of his eye. Both grabbed a sort of metal rod and began walking back toward the two men. "You'll never be able to forget me."

Sherlock felt a scream being ripped from his throat as a cattle prod was pressing into his chest, directly over his heart. He figured the same thing had happened to John, since he could hear a second scream through his blinding pain.

Then everything went black.

….

Sherlock woke up with a groan and attempted to sit up before agonizing pain forced him back down. It took him a moment to remember exactly what had happened, but once he did he forced himself into a sitting position, despite the horrible pain, and called out for John.

"John? JOHN?" Sherlock yelled, inching his way around the room against the wall, fighting back tears of pain.

Once again, his hand brushed up against John's hair, but he wasn't moving.

"John?! JOHN?!" Sherlock yelled. He grabbed John's shoulders and shook him slightly. Not enough to aggravate his injuries, but enough to wake him up.

John groaned and reached up to rub his eyes. It seemed that the two men were back in the same dark room they had been in before they had been tortured.

"Sh'lock?" John muttered.

"I'm right here, John." Sherlock brushed his hand over John's short hair.

John groaned again and pressed one of his hands to his side where he had been tasered, and the other over the spot on his chest where he had been branded.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock was in agony, but he was more preoccupied with John.

"What happened?" John asked.

"You don't remember anything?"

"I remember being dragged out of the room and strapped onto a table, then…oh…" John struggled to sit up and face Sherlock.

"Are you okay?" John questioned, a worried look in his eyes. Their eyes had adjusted to the darkness, so they could see a bit of each other.

"M'fine" Sherlock groaned. In reality, he couldn't find a position that was comfortable because of his back, but he wasn't about to tell John that.

"You're lying. I'm in pain and I was only electrocuted. You were whipped. Can I see?" John muttered.

"John, that's not necessary…" Sherlock began to argue.

"I'm a doctor, Sherlock. I want to make sure the wounds aren't infected. I guess we're lucky that they didn't put our shirts back on us, or we'd probably be in more pain from the fabric rubbing against our wounds. Turn around." John ordered.

"John…"

"Now, Sherlock."

Sherlock braced himself against the wall and slowly turned so his back was facing John. He heard a gasp as John caught a glimpse of the cuts and welts imbedded into the otherwise flawless skin of Sherlock's back.

Sherlock felt John's fingers brush up against one of the deeper gashes, and he breathed in sharply. That hurt more than he had anticipated.

"Oh my God, Sherlock. This is…I don't think they will become infected, it looks like those 'doctors' put some kind of cream on them. Probably don't want you to die of infection if they can kill you themselves. Regardless, this is ridiculous. I can't believe…" John trailed off, and Sherlock slowly turned back around to face his best friend.

"Hopefully Mycroft and Lestrade will find us soon." Sherlock replied.

"I don't know, Sherlock. I didn't see any windows, which means we're probably underground. And knowing Moriarty, we're probably in some remote location that will be extremely difficult to find, even with Mycroft's resources…" John responded.

"Well, John…it seems that you have been paying attention to me after all. You have become very observant over all the years we have spent together. I am…proud." Sherlock smiled through the searing pain in his back.

John smiled at his best friend. "If we never get out of here, Sherlock, I just want to say…" John started to speak, but just then the door was slammed open once again, and Moriarty walked in flanked by the two large men from before.

"Hope you slept well, boys! You're in for another treat!"

….

By the time the two men were roughly thrown back into the dark room, John had been whipped, though not as badly as Sherlock had, and Sherlock had been whipped with a chain rather than leather. Needless to say, they were an agony; especially Sherlock.

Neither had passed out this time, though Sherlock could barely move because of the blinding pain in his back. He could feel blood dripped from the wounds and soaking into the waistline of his tailored dress pants.

The doctors had tended to the wounds on both men's backs, but they were still in a lot of pain. Apparently, Moriarty didn't believe in giving his victims pain medication.

"Sherlock?!" John scrambled up from where he had been thrown and felt around for his best friend.

Rather than try to respond, Sherlock just groaned loudly. He could barely see through the tears unwillingly spilling from his eyes.

"Oh my God…" John decided against touching Sherlock's back, because he didn't want to cause him more pain, but he could see the damage done there, even through the nearly impenetrable darkness.

Finally, John settled for resting his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and running the other through his curls. "Oh, Sherlock…" he muttered.

After a while, Sherlock's sobs subsided and he sat up with a cry of pain.

"John?" He still had tears spilling from his eyes, and John felt some of his own well up and fall down his cheeks.

"I'm here, Sherlock."

Sherlock leaned forward and, in a moment of pure pain, hugged John, being careful of the marks that covered his back. John desperately wanted to hold Sherlock to him as tightly as he could and never let him go, but he knew that Sherlock was in too much pain to be able to handle that. Instead, he wrapped one arm loosely around Sherlock's shoulder, where there were far less whip and chain marks, and placed the other amidst Sherlock's unruly curls.

After a while, Sherlock sat up and absently wiped at the tear tracks on his face.

"I'm so sorry, John. We wouldn't be in this mess if I hadn't basically picked a fight with Moriarty. I shouldn't have involved you in these things, and now you may die simply because you were friends with me, and…" Sherlock started babbling, which was very uncharacteristic of him.

"Stop, Sherlock. I would do this a million times over rather than live my life without you. Don't think for a second that I blame you for this. Moriarty is psychotic, and it isn't your fault that he got fixated on you. This is nobody's fault but his." John cut Sherlock off.

"I just…Oh God, John, I love you so much. You are everything to me, I could never live without you now that I know you. And to think that this could have been avoided if we hadn't met, or if I didn't play Moriarty's game…I just can't bear the thought that this might be my fault, and…I just love you so much…" Sherlock went to bury his face in his hands, but he was stopped when John grabbed ahold of his wrists and slowly pulled them away, setting them down in his lap. John grabbed ahold of both of Sherlock's hands and held on.

"I love you too, Sherlock. I wouldn't have my life any other way, except for maybe not being kidnapped and tortured by a psycho. You are my life, that's why I write my blog. I want to show the world how amazing and brilliant you are, and that I am one of the only people that you have let be this close to you. That was what I wanted to say before Moriarty dragged us off to be tortured again. I'm just sorry that this was were this conversation had to happen." John smiled a sad smile and squeezed Sherlock's hands.

Impulsively, Sherlock leaned forward and brushed his lips against John's. And John, just as eager, pressed his into Sherlock's. All of a sudden, they were kissing. Sherlock scooted closer to John and put his hands on the shorter man's hips, while John tangled his hands in Sherlock's curly hair. They were deepening the very passionate kiss when the door banged open.

They broke apart and turned, ready prepared to see Moriarty and his goons there to torture them some more. They didn't expect to see Mycroft standing in the doorway, staring at the two men with a triumphant smile on his face.

"Well it's about damn time you two did that."

….

It had been two months since the whole ordeal with Moriarty. Mycroft had seen to it that Moriarty was incarcerated and could not get out, the men were back at work with Lestrade, and everything was back to normal.

Except, of course, the fact that they no longer needed the room upstairs at 221B.

Their wounds had been tended to, and the scars were fading, but they knew that they would never be rid of the marks burned onto their chests. They didn't know what the symbol was, but they knew that it represented Moriarty.

Nonetheless, they didn't see the mark as a reminder of the torture they were forced to endure. They saw it as a mark of their love for each other, and a mark that stood for the words that had been unspoken.


End file.
